He sighed. "Would that Homer were alive today to write the story of Achilles Maravain as it should be written. Will I have poets worthy of me?"
This, she thought, could go on indefinitely. "How soon will it be?" she broke in. "When will you succeed? Can you make it very soon, my dearest?"
"It can't be any too soon for me, either, dewdrop—but restrain yourself."
"I can't—oh, I can't!" she cried. Heavy breathing, then, in more serious tones. "I know what to do. I have influence in Washington. I'll arrange an audience for you with the President. With the President and all of Congress. They'll see you."
"Nice of them, but I don't see the use of it."
"It might be of inestimable use, my darling. A direct impact of your personality and honesty and drive should convince them. It would be almost certain to convince them; they're only human, my dear. And think of the time and trouble we can save if they are ready to give in gracefully. Please!"
"Very well," he sighed. "I'll do it. Don't think for a moment I don't suspect treachery, my pet, but after all, I am invincible. You know that, I hope."
And on this note ends the reconciliation. Immediately followed by much ado. Preparations while four hundred and ninety-nine engineers, etc., work in a veritable frenzy. And, out of their efforts and energy, there grows an amphitheatre, large and capacious. Pretty and modern. Beautiful.
This was to be the scene of the meeting. Here is to be decided the fate of more than a hundred and thirty million people. Here is to be expounded the rules and laws of a state founded on Grecian lines, on the classic examples.